Xain
by tdjs
Summary: Fourth year at Hogwarts. They say anger is this venomous, poisonous thing. It injects straight into your veins, roving up the pathways until it reaches your heart. When it gets there, it strides forward, wrapping around you heart and corrosion beings on your insides.
1. Chapter 1

Its dark outside, around here light ceases to exist rather quickly when the time becomes late. Maybe it is not the only extinguished light; the one in the young boy's eyes had gradually decreased as well. Not as fast as the daylight had, no it was more of a slow decline that no one had paid any attention to it.

He had felt thrilled at first, to be different that was. To enter a world that was beyond the understanding of the average, intelligent, human mind. To see this vastly different society that as of yet did not have a formed opinion of him. Oh how he was wrong! Society had already developed an understanding of what his supposed character was like.

Things slowly turned worse, like they always did. The one who first attracted his attention was Professor Snape, the tall, disturbing figure that sat at the head table. He was different, suspicious. He felt like darkness had a face for the first time in his life, that face was Snape's. Slowly his ideas crumpled apart; he was wrong at almost every step on this twisted path that everyone forcefully dumped him on. Set up at all the rest, given barely even the minimum clues to go on. Then everything fell apart and Quirrel was the one attempting to steal the stone.

Congratulations were in order for proving just why the hat had placed him in Gryffindor. His Headmaster awarded him points for murdering his Professor. Everyone cheered him on as the hero for yet another murder attempt on his life; which he barely lived through with his body attached. Worst of all, he was dropped back at the Dursley's house after being told point blank to, oh yeah, stop lying! No way did lovable, admirable citizens like them possibly abuse little him.

Second year was worse by far, when everyone turned against him. So, he could speak the language of the snakes, did that mean he would betray them? No, but they certainly would stab him in the back long before they would trust a Parseltongue. The Chamber of Secrets reopening, not with Lockhart's help that was for sure. One sixty-foot basilisk, with deadly efficient emerald eyes, and poisonous fangs, not to mention Riddle floating out of a diary.

Another summer followed with the Dursley's, which involved broken bones. Following on top of that with shattered trust, coupled with lies set to break him, and no escape from his prison. The dementor had infiltrated his train, the ministry followed him after he ran away, and well… He did not want to continue! He was ready to surrender to the first thing that does not try to kill him.

Harry resolved fourth year would be different, he promised himself.


	2. Effective end of friendships

**This is my first posted story; hopefully you will not be too harsh. Not sure when updates will be. I will try to stay with it and not abandon it. Thanks to Biku-sensei-sez-meow**, **who was has reviewed already? Almost could not believe it was that fast. Anyways, on with the story.**

* * *

How often do we break promises? Do we make them just to break them? When we have made it to ourselves, is it a promise? These questions were Harry's questions as he stood from his spot on his house's table. He looked at the crowd, the same type of people as the Durselys; everyone was going along together with the same idea. Why was this? Was it simply so they wouldn't be the ones left alone, the one with a different idea?

He could literally feel the anger spiral around the room; roaring its outrage at this deception. He could recall, later as he lay down to sleep, the disgusted faces of the crowd. The Slytherin's were the only ones hiding their emotions. He did not doubt they had one; they just were not the first ones to wear it on their sleeves. The heart was, as many proclaimed, rather mysterious and void of all understandings any one human being has tried to derive at. There were not any explanations, which could hold enough weight as to be called true, for why it worked that way.

The heart could love viciously, and yet hate as with the same, identical emotion. That was love and hate, and many described it as one continuous line, a line that is crossed over many times in existence. The line was never too long or to steep, as to prevent a truly devoted person from making the journey across.

He walked down the row, in-between the tables, without a single emotion crossing his face. He locked down all has emotions, this time his heart on sleeve would not save him. He could tell that with all the looks he was receiving, even his own friends seemed disappointed in him.

He walked through the champion's doorway, knowing that he was in hell this year. Knowing, without any tendrils of doubt crawling through him, that he was alone for the second time in his life. Merlin have mercy, he thought, for they certainly have none left in them.

* * *

"Why did you do it? Was it the fame, the money, is it the girls?" The first thing Ron had done, coming up to him in the common room, was to rapidly fire one question after another. Harry could see, gazing into his companions eyes that no matter the answer, he wouldn't believe him. He nearly agreed, almost said yes just to see what the response would be. As usual, constant thing with him, Ron was going to drive a dagger right through his ribs. Would this one actually be to his face, he wondered. He thought the back was a much easier target.

"No," he responded, "after all the age line didn't seem possible to confound." Ron had a confused look on his face; Harry decided to spell it out in simple, child-like, English instead. "I didn't place my name in, yet I can see you aren't buying this." He was right too; Ron's face was slowly turning to match his hair, an indication of anger or rage. He wasn't sure it couldn't be both.

Ron stepped closer to Harry, his hand clenched tightly against his palm. He looked at Harry's eyes, "You could have included me in your plans too; as usual your superiority complex makes you steal everything for yourself!" They say anger is this venomous, poisonous thing. It injects straight into your veins, traveling up the pathways until it reaches your heart. When it gets there, it strides forward, wrapping around your heart and corrosion beings on your insides. After all this is accomplished inside your body, the outside begins to mirror the inside. Your face becomes red; your hands clench together, your body temperature rises to the point where touching you burns the other person. Then, when it all settles in, you release it on out to someone else.

One occasion of anger is the one where Ron's hand snapped into a fist, and slammed forward into Harry's face. This moment was the effective end of three years of friendship, the one when Harry looked up at Ron from the floor. One of Harry's hands was clapped on his sore cheek; he paused for a moment as he looked upwards. Time seemed to freeze on this event, everyone in the room moved slower. Harry looked upwards at Ron, at the one who had, for the first time, stabbed him in the front. He could see the agreement on his house's faces. No one, not even Hermione, was going to defend him. Like all of his childhood, Harry stood to his feet to defend himself.

Time lurched into action as one, single, individual wand rises into position in the air, hovering there, its tip pointed at Ron. The spell flew out of Harry's mouth so fast he didn't even know what he cast; it hit Ron in the face causing him to stagger backwards. Ron fell against Hermione, who tried to adjust her footing to hold him up as well. Blood streamed out of Ron's eyes, Harry wondered, for a moment, if Madam Pomfrey would just fix this as easily as she has everything else before. He turned around and headed out the portrait entrance, not even caring the panic going on behind him or the direction his feet were heading in. This moment, whether he knew it or not, had just broken his ties to his own house.

* * *

"Watch where you're going Potter!" Draco sneered at Harry; he had slammed shoulder first into Malfoy. Blaize and Theo stood on either side of Draco, must be his new bodyguards. He briefly wondered what Crabbe and Goyle were up to. Harry's eyes caught on the Slytherin emblem, for a moment he felt himself transported back to his eleven-year-old body. The day was his sorting; he recalled his argument with the hat until it had finally given up. Gryffindor was shouted across the hall, but the hat had personally believed Slytherin was more his style.

He nodded his head, murmuring an apology as he slid past Theo. He turned as he heard his name being called out. Professor McGonagall stormed down the hallway, lighting crackling in the air around her. So furious she was that her anger nearly appeared to have a physical appearance. "Mr. Potter," She hissed out, "detention for a week! No, two weeks. One isn't even close to enough. Why, I've never, in all my years, ever had a student be so horrid! Blood was coming out of his eyes. I should drag you straight to the Headmaster, I really should." She paused in the middle of her rant to draw in a deep breath. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Several things that would have appeased her had come to his mind; he discarded each one. He was done being trampled on by his teachers, done with his friends, and done explaining himself. He straightened his posture, stood firm on his ground, and matched her death stare with a chilling gaze. "That I refuse to accept your punishment, Professor." He said the last bit in mockery, when had she ever really been much of a Professor. She had taught, sure she did, but had she ever helped him? Not for as long as he could remember of her. "You see Professor; the Weasel may claim his innocence as loud as he can squeal. I, for one, know he started the fight. I merely, refused to take a beating, stood up, and placed him on the ground instead. If they attack me, I will respond as fiercely as they do."

Anger: an emotion that posses you to deal out what you take. Rage: the desire to inflict pain on your target. Confusion: An idea that something is before you, you just can't figure out what. Justice: a feeling that you can judge everything and make it fair. Bigot: someone who thins they are always right, including in every situation. Light: something, which can never see the world in Gray or accept Dark. All these could be used to describe the Professor.

She was angry at what he did to Ron, enraged as to his attitude, and confused to why he acted like this. Her idea of justice was, the tower said Harry attacked Ron, end of story. As a bigot, she couldn't see that what Harry said also rang with truth. The final thing about his so esteemed Professor, she was a firm Light wizard. Not that, that means something is wrong with that. Dark and Light where, after all, like a coin with two sides. One side needed the other to be a proper coin. Society needed them both, if she wished to ever be proper. Assuming, of course, that society is a she and not, dare he say it, a boy.

McGonagall stood straighter, trying to intimidate him. "Very well, then you are off the house team until further notice." He nearly started laughing; he couldn't believe that she thought that a punishment. He nodded his head in acceptance; his Professor turned around and stormed back out of sight.

"After all, we aren't playing this year." He answered her when he knew she wasn't in hearing distance. What was she going to do? Ban him from it next year; he was the best seeker they had. Even when angry at him, his team had never dismissed him. Well, regardless, that was an entire year away. For now, he needed to focus, especially on this tournament.

His attention was drawn back by Theo. "What did you do, Potter? Crucio Someone?" They all knew he hadn't; after all he'd be in trouble with the ministry had he done that.

He turned around to face all three of them. Keeping a neutral expression on his face, he looked right at Theo. "Do you think that would have been better?" he asked, trying to sound innocent. For a moment, Theo stood there stuttering in response, until he saw Harry smirk at him.

"I don't know Potter, after all the torture curse gets over used a lot. I'm sure several other curses, how do I say this, might work as well." Draco drawled out sarcastically.

"Potter!" He nearly sighed in exasperation; after all how many Professors' could he anger in one night? Judging by Snape's expression, at least two. "What are you doing to my snakes?" Consequently, that was why Snape reminded him of a mother bear; he was being aggressive over his cubs. Ah, how cute, not. He opened his mouth to attack back; he never got the chance to.

"Well, you see Severus; we were just discussing the best way to cause a Weasel the most harm. Theo suggested crucio, Draco said it was over used and we could do more with lesser-known curses. Potter isn't sold on either idea yet, but we are working on it." Blaize smiled charmingly at his head of house. The other three kept their faces looking serious; they knew what Blaize was up to.

Snape nodded curtly to them. He looked over his three charges, before nodding in satisfaction. None of them was hurt; also, there wasn't tension between the four. Whatever they were up to, none of it was harmfully to each other. "Carry on then, also if you need any help be sure to ask. Not every curse must be bloody too, often times the painful ones shed none at all." He looked knowingly at Potter, communication that he had heard what he did. Harry nodded; he would keep that in mind. "Do note that curfew is soon." He left the group alone after that.

Harry sighed, "Great, might as well go get killed." The three Slytherin shared a long look; Theo finally nodded at Draco. He took a step forward.

"Hey potter, if you want meet us tomorrow in the library. After class that is." With that they parted company.


End file.
